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text me with your fingertip
your filed shorn smooth little nail
drawing water beads apart
on the old mirror

take your Midol and drip toothpaste
from the frosted steam kissed lips
leaning hips against the warm
counter the cold sink edge

the drain swirls away
the night fog

hair spray makes the coif settle
and perfume on all
temporal points of landscape
The plains the little mountians
the lush valley

Draw a sweet
"Fuck You" on the glass for me
and head off
heels down the hall
wrapped in the morning
hour while I turn a corner
in my dream maze
catching a whiff
of Chanel Number Five

there is Fire in your name
and stars in your soul
like diamonds cutting
love to last

you speak and drawl
with bruised peach lips
"LIfes a blast baby..You've got
to live it fast"


Editing stage: 


but she corrected me..
"No, bitchs are bitchs"

so many haters and she rises
on gazelle beauty and strides
cell phone calls
while the dull lions tear apart
the weak and fallen
never sated

I wrote this poem after reading my
Friend Loves comments about
swearing...and her poem about
sex and lust...I have stopped
whipping myself with branchs
for impure thoughts

and I read Jaynes poem about
cologne and perfume
and it brought all this back to me

I remember the perfumes of lovers
how we would walk in mornings
drenched in its drizzle
still aglow with that soft hum of
lovemaking in our souls

sometimes showering and sometimes
not....her scent and smell marking
me like territory....He Belongs to Me!!


author comment

read this last night but didn't
have time to comment
reading it again this morning, i am
just as enamoured

this is one of your recent best

from the opening stanza i was completely engaged...
i needed to read more

always original
always human
always seductive

the pictures your words paint always draw
me in...and i am always, always moved
in some way

"the drain swirls away
the night fog

hair spray makes the coif settle
and perfume on all
temporal points of landscape
The plains the little mountians
the lush valley" these lines

you have such a gift


night time dorm showers empty
the midnight hours in dawns cusp
the steam faucet massages
in slick sensation of lover flesh
the drone tactile rush of passion
burning warm while outside the
city cold dampness swirls through
black pines on the valley edge..
The freights climbing the slow grade
ravines crying through the windows
just raised an inch to mix with the
insense and lovemaking...the perfume
breath..the dry winter hush of heat

Writing was never easy
but I never quit

and I tell her often (yesterday)
how I think of her still
in her town far away in her life

Thank You!

author comment

Meaning, content, imagery, everything I love about your work.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

My favourites are the abstract...personal
but these are the commercial sucess's that
people enjoy and call their own

much of this is gleaned from personal
excursion and I felt as much then as I
still do today...Twenty five years ago...Still
like yesterday!!! I remember what I wore..
what she wore..

In fact It was this night!!!!!!!!!!

hows that for tradition!!

Thank You

author comment

This time i agree with Jess, as i read this the memories were racing through my head. The words were so succinct, but the pictures they created were stunning. Regards Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

reading other poets other writes got me here
I can see all I want
and Feel in my heart and react
with emotions
But its another chore to write

Took me from thirteen to forty nine to write
like this!!! that long!! When I see people
here just starting out that are raw and
fantastic I tell them...

it probably just took me this long to get
settled down to write..But I am glad
I have...

I can come here and read when I make
time and eventually get around to commenting

Thank You Roscoe!

author comment
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